Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 172

He didn't read from a script.

"Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of the foundation. Over these thirty years, many names have been inscribed in our memorial booklets, but there are some names that were never properly recorded."

The banquet hall slowly fell silent.

Eleanor Langford frowned. "What is Mr. Clarke getting at?"

Willow Whitaker felt a sudden, gnawing unease.

Lawrence Langford also looked up.

Scott stood at the podium, his cane leaning against it.

"Earlier, there were some baseless speculations circulating online regarding Ms. Wren Whitaker. Let me set the record straight: I am the one who invited her into the back to review some archives tonight. Our foundation's historical records do indeed contain information pertaining to her late mother, Vivian Vance. Until the events of the past are fully brought to light, I ask that none of you spin tales out of a stealthily snapped photograph."

The audience was dead silent.

Then, hushed whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

All the color drained from Willow's face.

She never imagined Scott Clarke would publicly defend Wren.

It wasn't a total vindication.

But it was enough to wash away half the mud slung by that anonymous post.

Lawrence glanced at her.

It was just a fleeting look.

But Willow's heart hammered violently against her ribs.

She had no idea if he suspected anything.

She quickly lowered her head and picked up her phone, pretending to be reading the anonymous thread herself.

Oblivious to the tension, Eleanor continued to scoff coldly. "Mr. Clarke is really out of line today..."

She didn't get to finish her sentence.

Because Scott continued, "Vivian made significant contributions to Project Morning Star back then. The foundation will be re-evaluating our historical records. Whatever needs to be made public will be made public, and whatever needs to be corrected will be corrected."

Lawrence's expression finally hardened.

Willow's grip on her phone slowly tightened.

It hit her all at once. The photo she orchestrated tonight hadn't ruined Wren.

Instead, it had thrust Vivian Vance into the spotlight for everyone to see.

In The Records Room, Wren could hear Scott's voice echoing from outside.

It was muffled.

Wren's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I see it, Mom."

No one responded.

And no one needed to.

Back in the banquet hall, Willow rested her phone face-down on her lap.

Notifications from her anonymous account's dashboard kept blowing up.

The tone of the comments was shifting.

People were asking who the photographer was.

They wanted to know why someone would drop a photo like that during the gala.

Others pointed out that if the foundation itself acknowledged Vivian's involvement, what was wrong with Wren looking at the files?

Willow stared at the screen, a cold sweat tracing its way down her spine.

For the first time, she realized the knife she had thrown hadn't buried itself in Wren.

Instead, it had sliced open something else entirely.

A layer of history she didn't fully comprehend yet.

And beneath that old facade, her mother and Quentin's stubborn silence pointed to a much more terrifying problem.